


The Risk I Took Was Calculated But Man, Am I Bad at Math (and Yoga)

by sprinkle_of_cinnamon, toomanysharks



Series: Am I Dreaming or is that a Prompt-Based Harringrove Series? [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Disaster Steve Harrington, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Max Knows What She's Doing As Always, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Painfully Oblivious Boys, Short Shorts, Tattoos, Tommy H is a Good Bro, Yoga Instructor Steve Harrington, Yogic Disaster Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkle_of_cinnamon/pseuds/sprinkle_of_cinnamon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysharks/pseuds/toomanysharks
Summary: That’s when Billy realized the true extent to which he had miscalculated, the absolute shit storm he'd gotten himself into. This was a risk which he had in no way been prepared to deal with.Harrington was teaching this class.This class, which Billy had paid money to attend.This class, which was going to take place twice a week for the rest of the semester.He had hoped time would kill his stupid crush on Harrington, or at least dull the edges of it, but his longing burned sharp as ever.Billy had miscalculated, and he was totally fucked.= =Karma.It was one of those things Steve knew about because all the wellness blogs and yoga instructor certification courses talked about essential oils and chakras and your third eye. It was a thing.This, right here. It had to be karma.He was currently trying to guide an intro vinyasa sequence while pretending not to notice that Billy fucking Hargrove was wearing unnecessarily short shorts. His thighs made it clear the man did not skip leg day.Steve would have had better luck ignoring him if Billy wasn’t so goddamn bad at yoga. Part of Steve wanted to write Billy off as a lost cause. He knew he wouldn’t.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Am I Dreaming or is that a Prompt-Based Harringrove Series? [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771882
Comments: 8
Kudos: 144





	The Risk I Took Was Calculated But Man, Am I Bad at Math (and Yoga)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Troubled Birds](https://www.mincingmockingbird.com/collections/cards/products/risk-postcards-set-of-12-troubled-birds) for the title.
> 
> =
> 
> You can find more Harringrove focused chaos thinly veiled as fanfiction with plot and purpose in our series [**Am I Dreaming or is that a Prompt-Based Harringrove Series?**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771882).

Billy had miscalculated.

A week ago, Max had walked across campus, planted herself on his shitty ass futon, and asked him to go to a yoga class with her. Well, she'd really _told him_ he was going but made it sound like she was asking, which was a special skill she possessed. 

"So, hey. There's this free yoga class and I was thinking we could go --"

Billy laughed out loud before telling her _no._

"It’s free, and it’s just one class so I can see if I like it before I pay money for a whole semester,” she needled. “You won't even have to sign up for the paid ones if I do. Just go to this one with me.” 

"How about you fuck right off instead?" Billy flopped onto the futon next to her and the rickety thing gave a groan but held. "I don't need that zen shit." 

"Come on, Billy. You can't channel all of your pent up rage and aggression into weight lifting," she reasoned. “You definitely need that zen shit.” 

Billy huffed at that. "I _can_ channel my rage into lifting and I _will_ , just you fucking watch me." 

"Have you considered maybe both is a good option? Like, you could lift weights _and_ do yoga. I'm sure the combo would be better than just weights alone," Max suggested. 

"I hadn't considered that. And I still won't." 

Max rolled her eyes before changing tactics. "Look, Billy. None of my friends will go with me and it's at night and I'm nervous about walking there alone." 

Billy knew for a fact that Max could handle herself against all kinds of things that crept in the darkness. But he was also starting to suspect his sister might be after something she wasn't letting on to, which was the chance to do something with her brother for once now that they were both at the same university. 

So Billy had done the mental math. He’d weighed the risks of going to the class (embarrassment) vs the risks of telling Max no (her special brand of hostility) and in the end, Max's wrath was a force he wasn't eager to face, so he'd said fuck it and gone to the class. 

Besides, he figured yoga couldn’t really be that hard, and everything would be fine.

And that's where Billy had miscalculated - as it turned out, he was incredibly bad at yoga. 

The instructor had been some middle aged lady with a soft, soothing voice leading them through various positions. Even though the instructor's voice made him want to slip into a deep sleep, his frustration with the yoga moves was pushing him more towards a deep rage. 

He saw red every time the instructor would gently nudge his elbow, sink his knee a little to keep it from locking, tap his back to remind him to keep it straight. He didn’t need the reminders that his form fucking sucked. 

Billy was used to the burn of his muscles put to good use. He enjoyed it, even. Revelled in the way his muscles would tighten and strain when he added 10 more pounds to his weights before the fire in his arms turned into a more pleasant simmering. 

But this was a different kind of burn. His muscles were used to 3 sets of 15 reps, followed by 3 more sets of a different rep, on and on for an hour. He was not prepared for stretching and holding and matching his breathing to his movements and pulling his belly button to his back or whatever the fuck it was he was supposed to be doing. 

At the end of the class, Max had been beaming and sweating in a classy, contained way - more like shining, really. Meanwhile, Billy had been dripping with sweat, his palms hot and slick from bracing himself on the mat, and he shone with a deep, burning rage. 

"I think I'm gonna sign up for the semester," Max said. "Looks like maybe yoga isn't for you,” she sniffed, offhanded as she rolled up her mat. 

And if there was one way to get Billy to do something, it was to make it sound like he couldn't do it well. So he'd signed up too. To prove a point to Max. 

Now, Billy walked into the studio, mat rolled up under his arm, hair tied back in a bun, an old basketball t-shirt cut deep at the sides, and shorts that ran a little on the short side. 

He spotted Max easily, her red hair piled on top of her head, and rolled his mat out next to hers. 

"Brat," he greeted. 

"Dickhead," she responded, and then they both moved into a pre-yoga stretch routine that they'd found online. 

Billy was reaching for his toes, right knee bent to stretch his left hamstring, his eyes closed in concentration while he felt the familiar burn of muscles put to good use as his leg stretched out and warmed up. 

It was a moment close to zen for him, and the meditative shit hadn't even started yet. 

Billy switched sides and thought to himself that maybe Max had a point. Maybe yoga was gonna be good for him. 

And then, as if the universe could just _sense_ that he was having a decent time, a shit storm descended upon him. 

"Max?!" A voice called from the front of the studio. 

Billy knew that voice. It’d been 3 years since high school graduation, but Billy hadn't forgotten the way that voice had sounded calling down hallways, across basketball courts, over the sounds of kids in an arcade. He felt his muscles tense back up as he glanced to the front of the studio and his suspicions were confirmed. 

Steve fucking Harrington stood there, grinning at Max. 

The answering grin was audible in her voice when Max called back to him. “Steve?!”

Harrington dropped his yoga mat at the front of the class, which Billy thought was pretty rude considering that's where the instructor was going to need to put _their_ mat when they showed up. He made his way over to Max, face lit up in a grin until the moment he was right in front of them and his eyes finally slid over to find Billy.

"Oh," he breathed. Something flashed across his face too quickly for Billy to read before the exuberance came back over his features. "Hey Billy, didn't see you there."

"And I wish I hadn't seen you there," Billy snapped. Which was a fucking lie. 

Harrington looked better than he had any right to while he was wearing something as nondescript as a thin, plain t-shirt and close-cut yoga pants. His hair was just as ridiculously floppy as Billy remembered, but he’d clearly spent a lot of his summer outside, judging by the way it was streaked with sun-bleached blonde. His lopsided grin seemed brighter than usual against his tanned skin, and Billy wondered what Harrington had been up to this summer. Maybe yoga on the beach? 

Thankfully, Max’s social skills distracted him from that train of thought. 

“You taking this class this semester?” Max asked. “You can set up on the other side of me. I promise I’ll keep Billy from biting your head off.” 

Harrington laughed at that and Billy had to focus to keep himself from getting lost in it. 

“Nah, I’m teaching it,” he answered, and Billy’s heart somehow managed to freeze up and beat double time in his chest. 

Max cocked her head to the side. “I thought Carole was teaching this class?”

“She just did the free one for me because I had something else going on. All the intro level courses at the Rec Center are taught by students,” he explained. 

And that’s when Billy realized the true extent to which he had miscalculated, the true depth of the absolute shit storm he'd gotten himself into. This was a risk which he had in no way been prepared to deal with. 

“Oh, cool,” Max chirped. And then they were catching up on the rest of the brats and Billy fully zoned out. 

Harrington was teaching this class.  
This class, which Billy had paid money to attend.   
This class, which was going to take place twice a week for the rest of the semester. 

Fuck. 

A small voice in the back of his mind told him he could just skip the rest of the classes or try to cancel his registration. But skipping seemed like a waste of money and he’d checked the box on the reg form that said ‘ _I understand that all fees are non-refundable_ ’ so he had a feeling he wouldn’t get his money back, even if he tried to drop out. 

By the time Billy had resigned himself to the reality of the situation, Harrington had already unrolled his mat at the front of the studio and was chatting with some people in the front row. 

“Tough break,” Max sighed. “Must be horrible seeing Steve again, huh?” 

A new wave of rage crashed into Billy as he realized exactly how he had found himself in this position. “You knew Harrington was the instructor, didn’t you?” 

“Alright class,” Harrington called from the front of the room, and a silence washed over the rest of the students. 

“You knew, didn’t you,” Billy hissed as Harrington announced the first stretch they’d be doing.

Max just put a finger to her lips to shush him and then shrugged him off, nodding her head at where Steve was kneeling on his mat, moving into position. 

Billy sighed and followed along. 

A whole semester of watching Harrington twist himself into ridiculous poses. A whole semester of tight pants and too-thin t-shirts. A whole semester of Harrington telling him to breathe deep, to be aware of his body. A semester of warm hands braced on his back, sliding over his legs and arms to correct his form….

Billy sucked in a sharp breath and bit his lip to distract himself. The last thing he needed was to pop a boner for Harrington in front of his sister and about 20 other people. 

He had hoped time would kill his stupid crush on Harrington, or at least dull the edges of it, but his longing burned sharp as ever. 

Billy had miscalculated, and he was totally fucked. 

= = 

Karma. 

It was one of those things Steve knew about because all the wellness blogs and yoga instructor certification courses talked about essential oils and chakras and your third eye. It was a thing. Balance, a cycle. You get from the universe what you give and all that. 

He figured it made sense but never put much thought into it. Steve never put much thought into anything, really. 

This, right here. It had to be karma. 

He was a douchebag through most of high school. Right up until government conspiracies became reality and a flock of middle schoolers became his best friends. Steve had figured him and the universe were even. At a draw. No debts owed. 

He figured wrong, because he was currently trying to guide an intro vinyasa sequence while pretending not to notice that Billy fucking Hargrove was wearing unnecessarily short shorts. His thighs made it clear the man did not skip leg day. 

Steve would have had better luck ignoring him if Billy wasn’t so goddamn bad at yoga. They were almost a month in and Steve had already tried arguing a full refund for the guy. It was meant as a mercy killing rather than an act of kindness. But the university policy said no refunds. They meant no refunds. Part of Steve wanted to write Billy off as a lost cause. He knew he wouldn’t. 

Prompting the class into the next move, Steve directed everyone to shift from chaturanga into downward facing dog. He wandered through the room, correcting stances and offering modifications where he could. As he approached the back row, he heard Max’s voice pitched low but full of mirth. 

“What’s your next race, huh? Freestyle? Butterfly?” she mocked. Max did have a point. Billy looked ready to launch off a starting block and into a swimming heat rather than hit the current pose. 

“You’re a downward facing dick,” Billy hissed between his teeth when he saw Max’s perfect form. He tried shifting to mirror her pose and got nowhere close. 

Steve crossed his arms as he debated whether to say anything. Generally, he let Billy wallow in his own misery. He looked ready to kick Steve’s balancing leg out when they made eye contact during tree pose last week. 

“Please help this sad, yogic disaster,” Max said to Steve, despite the fact that she never lifted her head to see him approach. 

Billy tensed up at her words. Clearing his throat, Steve tried to figure out how to even unravel what was wrong with Billy’s stance, besides everything. 

Most people who regularly hit the gym didn’t focus on flexibility. That meant they needed to build it up. Very few beginners could get into downward facing dog without regular practice and needed to modify until then. While accurate, and forming the basis for what he was thinking, he didn’t say any of that. 

Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “You’re really tight.” 

Max’s shoulders shook as she laughed. “Oh my God,” she wheezed. 

Giving up all pretenses of the pose, Billy sat back on the mat to look at him. His shorts rode even further up his thighs at the motion, not that Steve was looking. 

Billy raised his eyebrows at him. “You want to say that to my face, Harrington?” 

So, maybe that wasn’t the critique he wanted to give a former high school nemesis he shared homoerotic tension with while said nemesis had his ass in the air. It was totally normal to want to punch the conceited asshole on your basketball team and also have weirdly charged interactions while naked in the locker room showers, right?

Still, he never backed down, especially when it came to Billy Hargrove. Steve crouched in front of him, maintaining unwavering eye contact. He had more than one existential crisis about Billy Hargrove’s eyelashes in his life. It had been a long time since he thought about them. They were still improbably perfect. 

Despite years of exposure, Steve never quite figured out how Billy’s barely contained rage, the antagonism that bubbled beneath muscled, tanned skin existed in the same space as eyes like that. Dark blue and stormy but clear enough to cut through you, beautiful. It was something he pretended not to notice.

“You’re really tight, Billy,” Steve said, speaking the words with deliberate slowness while wrapping his fingers around one of Billy’s calves. He squeezed for emphasis. 

Billy blinked at him, a mixture of surprise and delight that he stepped up to bat. Then that shitty smirk Steve knew all too well pulled at his lips. Years had passed and they were still right here, pushing into each other’s space to see what would happen. 

“Show me how you want me then,” Billy said, eyes lit up and intent on him. 

Steve leaned back, but he didn’t move his hand, so his fingers ended up sliding along Billy’s leg. “Do it again without trying to put your heels all the way down,” he said. 

He watched the slow roll of Billy’s throat as he swallowed. The way his gaze dropped from Steve’s face to his hand, where pale fingers splayed across Billy’s skin. 

“Let’s go,” Steve said as he pulled back.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he prompted, after Billy tried to skip the set-up and move right into the pose. 

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Billy said. He huffed out a laugh as he did as he was told. “You a yoga instructor or a porn star?” 

It took Steve a beat too long to realize what he asked Billy to do. It took another beat for him to process the question because Billy actually did it. On the best of days, Steve’s brain operated as barely functional, scattered chaos. Today, while in close proximity to Billy’s thighs, it was not the best of days. He had three years to grow complacent. Steve wasn’t used to this back and forth. He kind of missed it. 

“You tell me, Billy. You see guys like me in the porn you watch?” Steve asked, pushing. Billy liked to be provocative. He was a shit starter, but he never crossed that invisible line. Sometimes, Steve used to wish he would.

Billy’s tongue slipped between his lips as his smile widened. He tipped his head up to look at Steve. 

“Guys like you are the porn I watch, pretty boy,” he said with a wink. Steve promptly choked. 

Max let out a snort. He pushed back up to his feet as Billy transitioned into downward facing dog. He definitely needed to keep walking around the rest of the class.

“Better,” Steve said, nodding at the terrible attempt. Incrementally better at least. 

“Really?” Max asked, her face upside down as she peered at Steve between her arms. “Shouldn’t he put more space between the mat?” she jerked her chin towards her brother. 

Admittedly, Billy was in more of a bent plank position rather than the 120 degrees he was supposed to achieve. Steve planned to let it slide considering there were roughly ten other things Billy was doing wrong. 

“What, am I getting graded for this shit? Keep critiquing and I’ll yank the mat out from under you,” Billy promised. 

Max rolled her eyes, still holding her form impeccably. “If Will threatened to do that I’d be worried. He’s gotten really good at close up magic, but he would never. You? You ate my card the last time you guessed it wrong.” 

Barb looked over from her position near the front of the class. “Steve, I don’t think I’ve got my frame lined up right.” 

“I’ll be over in just a sec,” Steve promised. 

“Chop, chop, Steve,” Max said, smiling bright. “Billy needs help too, a lot of help.”

“Oh, fuck off, Maxine,” Billy grumbled. 

Steve gritted his teeth together and glared at her while taking a step closer to Billy. “I’m going to touch you,” he warned Billy so he didn’t get an elbow in his face. It nearly happened twice in prior classes. Billy did not appreciate being touched when he couldn’t see it coming. 

“I think I’ve got it. I’m good,” Billy said, attempting to correct his position. It was still wrong. 

Pressing into the mat, his fingertips turned white as Steve planted both hands over Billy’s hips and shifted his body upwards. So, there they stood. Steve behind him, his hands on Billy Hargrove’s hips while he was bent in half. A full on nightmare happening inside a wet dream that was actually Wednesday night Yoga 101. 

Steve looked up to see Robin walk by the windows, a jump rope slung around her neck. She lifted a hand to wave and stopped walking in the middle of the hallway to stare. Robin cackled loudly enough that the sound filtered through the glass. 

“What about now, Billy?” Max asked, her voice overly sweet. “You good now?”

Steve quickly backed up and Billy swung his right leg out to catch Max behind the knee. She avoided the sweep by shifting into a side plank. With her free hand she flipped him off. 

“Keep working on that,” Steve said. Then he calmly fled to help Barb align her hands beneath her shoulders. 

“Now, step your right foot forward into a low lunge,” he instructed the group. Steve stayed in the front of the room for the rest of class. He guided everyone to the end of the flow by bringing his hands together over his heart and bowing his head. 

“See you next week,” he called out as his students packed up. Robin slipped into the room while people began to disperse. 

“So, who’s that?” Robin asked, jerking her chin towards Billy where he aggressively rolled his yoga mat. 

“Uh--,” Steve said. There was no getting out of this one. 

Max snapped her carrier strap in place, swinging the mat over her shoulder. “Nice class, teach,” she said, raising her hand for a five high. Despite the fact that she was a hellion, Steve still slapped her outstretched palm. 

“Hey, Mad Max. You’re pretty good at this,” Robin said, nodding towards her. “Too good for 101. I think the pacing in the intermediary or advanced class would suit you better.” 

A smile that made a cold sweat prickle on the back of Steve’s neck spread across Max’s face. “You know what, this pacing is a little slow for me. I think I should transfer out. It’s not a withdrawal if I enroll in a different class within the first month, right?” she asked. 

Billy shot Max a dirty look as he came up beside her. His blonde curls were still pulled half up and as he turned to the side, Steve got an unobscured view of the musculature that wrapped itself around Billy’s frame because his tank cut so low on the sides. 

The broad span of his shoulders, the defined grooves of his abdomen, the protruding line of his hips visible over those stupid shorts. Billy sucked at yoga but he was still fucking cut. Apparently, some things never changed. 

“Seriously, you’re leaving me here with Harrington?” he asked, gesturing vaguely towards Steve without looking at him. That too, hadn’t changed. 

“Sorry, buddy. We don’t offer pacing slower than 101,” Robin said. Max laughed and Billy’s gaze shifted to Robin. He narrowed his eyes at her incrementally. 

“I’d say you’re in capable hands, wouldn’t you?” Max asked. 

She patronizingly patted at her brother without looking and pulled a face when she realized his barely-a-shirt-shirt made her come in contact with Billy’s sweaty chest. The pendant he always wore stuck to her palm and she shook it off, nose wrinkled up.

Billy just stared at her, impassive. “I’m getting pineapple on all the pizzas tonight.” 

“No!” she gasped. “They’ll be ruined, Billy. Come on, you can’t do that to me.” 

“Every single fucking pizza, Maxine,” he said before marching out of the room. Max ran after him, protesting loudly, until it was just Steve and Robin. 

Kicking the door shut with a nudge of her foot, Robin leaned against the ballet barres on the wall. “Max’s brother, Billy? _That_ Billy? Steve Harrington, please tell me why you failed to mention that you’ve been teaching sun salutations to the epicenter of your bisexual awakening for weeks now.” 

“It’s not--,” Steve started. “He’s--,” he trailed off. “I’m--,” Steve sighed. “Fuck,” he groaned, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. 

“Plenty of hot people take my class and everything is fine. This’ll be fine,” he said, somewhat desperate after a solid minute of resounding silence. 

“Right?” Steve prompted. 

“Not that hot,” Robin said with a rueful shrug. 

“Robin,” Steve groaned. “Back me up here. You’re not even into guys.” 

“I’m not,” she agreed. “But I do have functional eyesight. He’s quite the epicenter.” 

She sighed and shook her head as Steve spread his arms wide, pleading.

“This’ll be totally fine,” Robin said. She drew the words out to make sure he heard the skepticism in each syllable.

= =

Billy took a deep breath in, and when he released it, he tried to envision his anger flowing out with it. He felt his hips shift and his balance wavered as he tried to maintain his position.

He should be feeling pretty fucking pleased at the moment. In the weeks since Max had abandoned him he’d gotten good enough at the Eagle pose that he didn’t even have to keep his other foot on the ground for balance, so there would be no falling this time. And yet he was pissed the fuck off, for two different but related reasons.

First of all, Harrington had barely even glanced at him during the whole class. Billy had purposefully teetered enough that it looked like he was close to falling during three-legged downward facing dog, and Harrington hadn’t even come over to correct his frame. It was like he was ignoring Billy, and that just wasn’t gonna fly. 

Secondly, Billy was mad that he was mad about it. Like, what the fuck? Since when did he care if Harrington looked at him with his stupid Bambi eyes, or wrapped those long fingers around Billy’s ankles to correct his spacing, or gave him a soft, encouraging “good effort” that wasn’t even condescending at this point? 

Why would Billy care about that? He shouldn’t be fucking _steamed_ about Harrington ignoring him. And yet, here he was, trying to expel his bad vibes through deep breathing or whatever. 

“Great job everyone, now let’s move into upward salute.”

Billy reached his hands up, arching his back just a little bit to get a good stretch. He watched as Harrington’s eyes caught on him for a second, raking down his form before skipping off quickly. 

“Breathe in, steady, and out.”

He felt his nostrils flare with anger, but Billy followed along. As usual, Harrington ended class with Prayer Pose, and Billy tried to collect himself as he bowed his head. 

“Great class, everyone. See you next week," Harrington said as people packed up their shit. 

People filtered out around him and Billy lowered himself to his mat for his stretches. 

After Harrington had told him he was _too tight_ \- a memory which haunted Billy in his bed, in the shower, in his fucking Nutritional Science lectures - Billy had cornered Max to ask her about what the fuck he was supposed to do about that. The flexibility thing, not the daydreaming thing. Because he wanted to fix the problem but he wasn’t about to ask Harrington for help, _especially_ because of the daydreaming thing.

So now after class he took an extra five minutes to do stretches to increase his flexibility. And honestly, it had helped. After a couple weeks, he could almost keep his heels on the ground for half the count during Downward Facing Dog. Progress. 

He was in a bad mood today though, so he was in a hurry to get the fuck out of the studio. He sat on his mat, legs out in a V, and lunged for his toes. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Harrington chided as he came up to Billy. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you go too fast.” 

“Whatever,” Billy huffed, but this time, when he folded himself forward he went slower, with more control, because he was unfortunately right. 

Harrington sat in the space just beyond Billy’s feet as he continued through his routine. It wasn’t unusual - he’d hang around until Billy got through all his stretches, most likely waiting so he could close up the studio afterwards. 

Billy moved into the last exercise, stretching his left hand up over his head and leaning to the right, the muscles all along his arms and torso pulling at the movement. 

“New ink?”

Billy opened his eyes to find Harrington staring at his hip, which was now partially exposed as his shirt rode up with the stretch. “Yeah,” he grunted as he switched sides. “Turns out yoga isn’t totally useless. The breathing stuff actually helped while I was getting it done.” 

He left out the part where it was Harrington’s voice in his head, steady and calm, telling him to breathe in deep and exhale slowly while he got the tattoo. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing you tell your ex-rival / star of your dirty fantasies turned yoga instructor / star of your dirty fantasies. 

Steve finally looked up at his face. “Glad you’re learning something, even if it isn’t Eagle pose.” 

“I’m pretty good at that one, actually. Not that you’d know, you hardly checked on me today,” Billy bit out. He immediately wanted to take the words back; they revealed way too much. 

“You’re getting closer to kind of doing the Eagle pose, yeah.” Harrington’s eyes flashed with something before he continued. “And I promise, I was looking.” 

Billy shook his arms out, planted his hands behind him and leaned back on them, finally done with his stretches. “Didn’t seem like it.” 

Harrington grinned now. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted me to pay attention to you since you’re always glaring at me in class.”

“I glare at you because you’re always correcting me,” Billy muttered. 

“Isn’t that the point?” Steve asked. “Like why take a class if you’re not trying to learn?”

“Spite,” Billy answered. “Plus I knew I wouldn’t get a refund.”

Harrington nodded. “Fair. I tried arguing for a refund for you but the policy is non-negotiable.” 

The confession was too honest, too nice. Nice wasn’t their thing. Posturing and tension was their thing, and Billy figured it was about time to remind Harrington of that. 

“Maybe I just want fewer people to be around when you put your hands on me and tell me I’m too tight,” Billy offered. And really, that was probably a bit too honest, too. 

“You angling for private lessons, Hargrove? We could get you stretched out in no time then. The key to mastering any skill is practice. I’d have you in downward facing dog every day. Maybe even multiple times a day,” Harrington leered.

Billy ran his tongue over his lips. “Can’t tell if that’s a promise or a threat, Bambi.” 

“Isn’t a threat just a promise but with more intention, when you really think about it?” Harrington sat forward then and studied Billy for a second. “You know, maybe if you had my undivided attention you wouldn’t feel the need to sabotage your own Three Legged Downward Facing Dog. Your skills would definitely improve with private lessons.” 

So he _had_ been paying attention today. 

“Fuck off.” Billy felt the need to prove himself. "You know, I don’t suck at other things as much as I suck at yoga. I’m actually pretty good at other stuff.” 

“Dear god, for your sake, I hope that’s true,” Harrington joked, and Billy kicked at his knee. “You don’t suck that much though.” 

Billy scoffed at that. “It's okay, you can say it, I know it’s true. I suck. A lot.” 

“Oh really.” Harrington’s eyes glittered as he leaned in towards Billy. “You suck a lot huh?” 

Billy sat up and leaned forward to match Harrington’s stance - he’d gotten really good at following the lines of that body in the past few weeks. For yoga reasons, and yoga reasons only. “You got a problem with how much I _suck_?” 

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking,” Harrngton said. “Curious what it is that you’re so good at, though. Got some skills you wanna show off, hot shot?” 

Harrington was within reach and Billy had at least three skills that he’d like to show off, most of which most definitely involved sucking. 

But that was a line he wouldn’t cross - he never did. Because Harrington was probably straight and maybe bi if the rumors were true. In any case, he didn’t actually want to hook up with Billy, that much was all but guaranteed by the way Billy had treated him in high school. 

“Seem to remember being better than you at basketball,” Billy contemplated, reaching for the first subject change he could come up with. "How's that for skills,” he sneered. Or at least, he tried to sneer. He’d found his harsh expressions were wearing down around Harrington lately. 

“You knocked me over _one time_ \--” Harrington started, leaning back away from Billy. 

“Because you couldn’t plant your feet,” Billy finished for him, the air around them going less taut without their tension to hold it up. 

“Well I’m sorry we don’t all have strong, muscular legs like you do,” Harrington sniffed. 

“Oh, you want these legs?” Billy asked, stretching his legs back out around Harrington. 

“Again, probably not in the way that you’re thinking.” Harrington arched a brow at him and Billy wasn’t really sure what to do with that, but the air was shifting again and he knew that was dangerous.

“Alright.” Billy got up, offering his hand to pull Steve up. “Now I know a skill I can show off that you apparently need to learn if you want these legs.” 

Harrington rolled his eyes but grabbed his hand and Billy had a moment of sheer panic at the idea of holding hands with Harrington, which was ridiculous. They weren’t _holding hands_ and he had offered to help him up, he should have expected the hand-to-hand contact. And yet he was still taken aback by it for a second as he heaved Harrington up off the ground. 

“Show me what you’ve got,” Harrington said, and Billy realized they were standing almost chest to chest now.

Thoughts of those other skills he could show off came rushing back into Billy’s brain. He imagined wrapping his arms around Harrington’s waist, pulling him close, feeling the toned muscles in his back under that soft cotton shirt. Sliding his hands lower and pushing past the waistband of those too-tight yoga pants. 

Billy dropped Harrington’s hand, shook his head to clear his thoughts and took a step back. “Alright, let’s see your best squat.” 

Harrington laughed at that. “”I know how to do squats, Billy.” 

Billy nodded, held his hands up in a gesture as if to say, _show me what you’ve got_. 

Harrington bent his legs and crouched in what was probably supposed to be a squat but looked more like he was just kind of hunching over. 

“Oh, no,” Billy laughed. “First of all, _plant your feet_ , shoulder width apart. Keep your back straight and don’t let your knees cross over your toes. Like this.” He did a squat, slow enough for Harrington to keep track of his movements. 

“Okay, you’re actually teaching me something,” Harrington muttered before trying again. 

“Better,” Billy said. He tapped Harrington’s knee as he sunk down again. “But don’t let this go out so far.” He let his hand skim over the side of Harrington’s thigh as he stood back up.

“Now I know why you always look like you want to murder me during class,” Harrington huffed as he lowered himself again, his back bowing up as he did.

Billy ran his hand along Harrington’s back, applying pressure as he moved up from the base of his spine. “Gotta keep this straight.” Billy kept his hand on Harrington’s back, felt the muscles strain as he did another squat. “Wait, now you’re keeping it too straight.” 

“That’s not usually something guys say while they’ve got their hands on me,” Harrington said as he stood up. 

The question was out before Billy could stop it. “And what is it that guys usually say while they’ve got their hands on you?” 

“Nothing coherent,” Harrington answered with a smirk. 

So he _was_ bi. Billy felt heat flicker in his stomach at the idea of actually getting his own hands on Harrington, at the idea of being incoherent, of making Harrington the one who was so blissed out he couldn’t even form words. Dangerous ideas to be having.

“How’s this for coherent: bend at the waist, arch your lower back a little and pop your ass out next time,” Billy said, critiquing Steve’s squat form. 

Harrington grinned. “That’s more like it.” Then he did a perfect squat, and Billy felt a small rush of pride that he taught Steve how to do something right. Also a huge rush of something else that was not going to end well when Billy was wearing a pair of small green shorts that would hide absolutely nothing. 

“Nice form, Harrington.” And maybe that came out a little breathier than it should have. 

Harrington straightened up and turned to face him, a bit too close again. “Got anything else you wanted to show off?” Heat seared through Billy’s body as Steve’s hand found his hip, playing with the hem of his shirt. “Maybe that fresh tat?” 

A question was there in those deep brown eyes and Billy just nodded. Cool air rushed over his bare skin as Harrington lifted up his shirt to look at the tattoo. He frowned a little and bit his lip. 

“Looks pretty sweet, but your shorts are covering part of it,” Harrington pointed out, fingers trailing along the band of Billy’s shorts. There was that question again, burning bright and playful and he felt like this was dangerous but Billy nodded again anyway. 

He hissed a little when fabric dragged over his still-tender skin as Steve slowly pushed the side of his shorts down out of the way, exposing the jut of Billy’s hip. 

Harrington sank to his knees and Billy’s brain straight up stopped fucking working as he leaned in to get a closer look at the tattoo. “Ouroboros. Life, death, and rebirth,” Steve muttered as he ran his thumb gently over the ink. “The line work is amazing. Who’s your artist?” 

Billy’s mouth was unbearably dry as he tried to answer. “Benny.” He cleared his throat, this time speaking clearly. “Benny at Shadow and Ink.” 

“No way. He did mine, too,” Harrington said, leaning close enough that Billy could feel his breath on his skin.

“Wait, you have a tattoo? Let’s see it, then,” Billy demanded, aching to get Steve’s face away from his dick - a thought he ever imagined having.

Steve finally looked up at him, smirking from where he was still on his goddamn knees. “I’d have to take my pants off to show you.” 

“Yeah? And?” Billy licked his lips. “Didn’t stop you from looking at mine,” he nodded at where Steve still had his hand wrapped around Billy’s hip, clothes pulled aside to reveal his tattoo. 

Steve’s eyes got impossibly darker and he grinned, sharp and promising. 

Whatever he was going to say was cut short as a voice rang through the studio. “I’m looking for the pool?” 

Billy looked over his shoulder to see a woman standing in the door to the studio, clearly very lost. “Does this look like a fucking pool?” 

She glanced at Billy, then at Steve, on his knees in front of him. “No.”

“Then maybe fuck off?” Billy suggested. 

The rage from earlier was coming back in full force now. Billy wasn't naive enough to believe something would happen between them, especially not in the goddamn yoga studio, but he really would have liked to know where this would have gone without the interruption. 

Steve squeezed Billy’s hip, warm and quick, and then his hand was gone. “I can show you to the pool, just a moment.” Billy sighed deeply and glared at the lost patron. 

His attention was pulled back to Harrington as he stood up. Steve lowered his voice and leaned into Billy’s space. “Let me know if you change your mind about those private lessons.” He pulled the band of Billy’s shorts back into place and fixed his shirt. “Or if you think of anything else you wanna show me.” 

Steve gave him a wink, and with that, he was breezing past Billy and out of the studio with the pool lady trailing behind him. 

Billy took a minute to will his boner away and idly wondered if he was going to have some kind of Pavlovian response by the time these yoga classes were done. Like he’d just get riled up every time he walked into a studio. 

He rolled up his mat and headed out, mind swimming as he made his way across campus. What would have happened if that lady hadn’t shown up? 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he thanked all the Yoga gods or whoever the fuck was listening for the distraction from thoughts about Harrington. 

**Tommy H:** Should I have a kegger yes or yes? 

= = 

Steve nudged the door open, juggling a case of newly refilled organic mat cleaner. Heather asked for an assist before her hot yoga session started. He’d help her out anyways, but she did him a solid just last week, swapping shifts so he could video call in for an emergency DND consult. 

When Will Byers sends you a last minute Google invite to resolve the fate of your party while planning an attack by eager half-leopard, half-dragon mercenaries, you accept, no questions asked. 

“Hey, everyone, say hi to Steve Harrington’s Hair. It defies both logic and expectation. Join me in envying him intensely,” Heather said. She casted Steve a wink, still maintaining her twisted forward lunge while he dropped the crate against the wall.

Steve obligingly ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. Heather kept the lighting dim during her hot yoga sessions because she said that if she didn’t want to see her sweaty self in the mirror, she couldn’t subject her students to the sight. 

It was only because of this that Steve didn’t immediately notice. Didn’t notice that Billy Hargrove, shirtless and in stupidly short shorts barely covering his thighs was right there, in the front row. 

Who wore shorts that short to a yoga class? Why was Billy like this? Better question, what was he doing taking hot yoga? Let alone picking a spot in the front row? He never took the front row in Steve’s class. 

A horrifically embarrassing noise escaped Steve’s mouth when Billy rested a palm on the ground as he tipped slightly to the side, thighs flexing. He looked impossibly good. Sometimes Steve thought he remembered Billy incorrectly, but no. The motherfucker was that hot. He knew it too. Steve wished they had just banged out all the sexual tension back in high school so he could live his life without this torment. 

Billy glanced up, blue eyes cutting through the dark. He raised his eyebrows, head still tilted to the side. 

“Yeah, I know,” Billy said. 

For a moment Steve thought his heart might have stopped in his chest. Did Billy develop the ability to mind read? Dear God. If so, he needed to promptly walk right off the high dive. 

Steve managed to blink through the error message flashing in his brain. “--what?” 

“I’m this bad at yoga, always,” Billy clarified when Steve continued to stare at him wordlessly, gawking at all the glistening, bare skin. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, drawing the word out. “Didn’t I blacklist you for your own good?” 

Heather looked like her birthday came early and every gift she opened surpassed the wish list. 

“Can’t keep all that to yourself,” she tutted. 

Steve felt his face go hot and was glad the room was still too dim for anyone to notice. Heather instructed everyone to move into a forward fold as their final position. Afterwards, she dismissed class and pushed back her damp bangs. Steve forced himself to stop staring at Billy where the sweat rolled along his collarbone. 

“Steve-O, you’re coming to the kegger tonight, right?” Heather asked, wiping down her mat. 

“Tommy’s throwing it at our place,” Steve pointed out. 

“Just like old times,” Billy said from behind him. Steve turned and kept his gaze fixed somewhere over Billy’s stupidly defined shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Going to show up without a shirt under your leather jacket and beat my keg stand record?” 

“If you want me to take my clothes off, you only have to ask, Harrington,” Billy said with an easy grin, teeth flashing bright in the dark. Heather snorted loudly. 

“Well, got to get back to the storage room,” Steve announced, escaping the room faster than he ever ran when escaping rouge government agents. Billy Hargrove’s sexual energy apparently motivated more effectively than armed men. 

-

The sound of Miley Cyrus’ new track blared loudly through the living room, people crammed in everywhere. A typical Tommy H. kegger in progress. 

Steve downed his beer in one go when Heather walked through the front door and into the party, Billy Hargrove in tow. 

“Did he get better looking since I last saw him?” Robin asked, squinting at Billy curiously. 

Tommy slung his arm over Robin’s shoulder, the other looped around Carol. “Nah, he always looks that good. I think it’s a defense mechanism. Our brains aren’t meant to comprehend that shit.” 

“Sorry, Steve. He wore a shirt,” Heather announced as she approached them. 

They all glanced towards Billy where his pale pink, linen shirt was unbuttoned so low you could see his navel.

“Did he though?” Robin asked skeptically. 

Billy spread his arms out wide. “Buttons aren’t worth my time,” he said, before getting distracted when he spotted the tequila, vanishing into the crowd to track it down. 

Steve released the breath he hadn’t decided to hold on a jagged exhale. Shit. 

Things had only been getting worse as the semester went on. Memories of the time he offered to give Billy private lessons liked to pop up at random times in Steve’s consciousness to remind him that one time something almost happened, maybe. At least, he thought that’s where that was going. Maybe he read it wrong.

This shit was ridiculous. Billy always scrambled his brain. 

Steve did a round of shots before a girl he knew from his poli sci class pulled him into a game of beer pong and then Tommy passed by with another round of shots. Then Heather. Then Carol. Then Robin. Within the hour, Steve was well and truly plastered. 

He spotted Billy, as the fuckwad was actually doing a kegstand. It really was just like old times. Add in Steve trying not to look while sort of looking at Billy changing in the locker room and it was a collector’s set of Steve’s sexuality crisis highlights in one go. 

“Harrington!” Billy called out once he got his feet planted on the ground again. “What’d I say about memory lane, huh?”

Steve snorted on a laugh. “You’re not trying to kick my ass this time, so I’m here for the now.” 

“You’re actually talking to me this time around, so I’ll take it too,” Billy agreed. 

Frowning, Steve turned towards him. “I talked to you back in high school,” he objected. 

“After I got up in your face, you mean,” Billy corrected. “You didn’t pay attention to me unless I made you.” 

Steve had enough functional thought making abilities left to realize this was a conversation he should not have while drunk. He was going to say things. Things he didn’t say out loud to anyone, especially Billy. 

Yet, there he was. Opening his mouth. 

He could do whatever the hell he wanted. Sober Steve didn’t control Drunk Steve and could fuck right off. 

“You kidding me,” Steve laughed. “I only pretended not to notice you, man. I think it’s physically impossible not to pay attention to you. You’re like the fucking sun.” 

Billy’s cup froze where he started to tip back his drink. “What?” 

“You heard me,” Steve said, stubbornly. He was not repeating that. Drunk Steve and Sober Steve were in agreement on that one. 

“Why--,” Billy started before trailing off. “That makes no fucking sense, Harrington.” 

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “It made sense at the time. It’s not like I had some manual telling me how to react to my high school nemesis sending me into a gay panic. Fucking wish they had a manual for that. Maybe I should write one.”

He fumbled for his phone, pulling up the notes app to type that in so he’d remember it later. When he looked up, he saw Billy staring at him like maybe he was mistaken and never met Steve before in his life. 

“What?” Steve asked defensively. 

“I sent _you_ into a gay panic?” Billy said flatly, pronouncing the words slowly like maybe he was putting them in the wrong order. 

Steve nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah. A full blown crisis, my dude.” 

“Okay,” Billy scoffed. 

“You don’t believe me,” Steve realized, squinting at Billy’s unimpressed eyebrows. 

“Why would I?” Billy countered. 

“Tommy!” Steve called out, waving his friend over. Laden down with two full drinks, Tommy maneuvered his way across the room. 

“Wassup,” he greeted, clinking both his beverages to Steve’s cup and then to Billy’s. 

“Billy fucking Hargrove doesn’t believe he launched me into gay panic. Need you to back me,” Steve told him, quite reasonably, in his opinion. 

“Whoa,” Tommy said, whirling to face Steve. “Shit, that’s Level 10 classified. How drunk are you?” 

Steve started to raise a hand to indicate a number then he paused. “What’s the scale?”

“That time you accidentally overheard your dad having phone sex with his secretary to my Aunt Bess’ funeral,” Tommy said, after considering the question. 

“March of the Penguins,” Steve admitted. 

Tommy pulled a horrified face. “He hasn’t hurled yet has he?” he asked, turning to Billy. 

Billy looked between them. He looked slightly concerned but also amused. “No,” he confirmed. 

“You lightheaded?” Tommy asked next. 

Steve nodded, watching Billy finally tip back his red solo cup, the muscles in his throat shifting. Tommy sighed dramatically as he lowered his voice. “Steve, look away from Billy for a second,” he suggested. 

Directing his gaze to the couch instead, Steve frowned. “Now what?”

“Still lightheaded?” Tommy asked. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Steve told him. He distantly heard Billy make a choking noise in the background. 

Tommy grinned. “Figured. Spins hit you yet?”

The world had been tilting dangerously for some time. Steve was glad Tommy noticed too. “Can it stop doing that?” he asked, grabbing onto the wall to stabilize himself. 

“Time to march this penguin to bed,” Tommy told him, scooting Steve along the wall. 

Waving Tommy off, Steve continued edging down the hall. “I’ve got it,” he assured him. He took one more step clawing his way forward when the doorframe appeared. Then Steve lost his balance and pitched forward. 

He tried to figure out what happened when instead of the floor, he ran into something else solid as fuck. “Oh, I see,” Steve processed once he realized Billy caught him before he fell. 

Tommy slapped a palm to his forehead. “Alright. Looks like you’ve got this handled, Billy?”

Billy nodded, clearly trying not to laugh as Steve patted a hand against his bicep. “Very nice.” 

“Thanks, Harrington,” Billy said dryly. “Can you manage the stairs or do I have to carry you up?”

Steve tried to glare at him as he wobbled his way to the stairs just to show Billy how entirely capable of stair climbing he was. He missed the first step and almost ate it. Billy fisted a hand into the back of Steve’s shirt to prevent him from face planting. 

“Jesus,” he said, huffing a laugh. “It’s like watching Bambi walk on ice.” 

“I think I’m offended,” Steve said, attempting to parse that out. 

Billy tapped a rough finger under Steve’s chin. “It works for you,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t understand how that was either. 

“Don’t puke on me,” Billy warned, before hefting Steve over his shoulder in a modified fireman’s hold. 

Wow. He was strong. 

Steve appreciated that Billy didn’t throw him back the whole way because he definitely would hurl if he was upside down. It was still disorienting to have Billy’s arms wrapped around his entire fucking body, sturdy and alarmingly warm. 

“Veeeeeery nice,” Steve said again, his fingers splayed out against Billy’s broad shoulder blades. 

“You’re going to be real embarrassed about this later,” Billy told him, taking each step slow and measured so he didn’t jostle Steve. 

“Maybe,” Steve said, humming along to Usher. “Maybe not.” 

All at once, Steve was sitting on the edge of his bed, blinking in confusion. Billy shoved a glass of water at him. He struggled to take a drink while piling his pillows up behind his back. He was not about to lay down. 

“Thanks,” Steve managed, water sloshing as he shifted. 

Billy jerked his chin up in some approximation of a nod. “You good?” 

Steve tried to give a double thumbs up, forgetting he was holding the water. Billy caught the cup before it spilled entirely but half of it still tipped over Steve. 

“Whoops,” he said, before yanking the shirt up and off only to get stuck part way through. 

“Fucking Bambi,” Billy muttered, helping Steve out of the cloth prison. Once he got his shirt off, Steve realized how much nicer the cool air felt on his skin and kicked his pants off too. 

“Uh,” Billy said, uncertain and sounding decidedly unlike Billy. 

“I’m definitely going to be embarrassed about this,” Steve said. “I fucked up a double thumbs up. There’s no coming back from that.” 

Billy smiled and it looked a little less sharp than Steve was used to. “Yeah, that was pretty embarrassing,” he agreed. 

Then Billy’s eyes dropped slightly, almost of their own accord, resting on the ink penned high on Steve’s thigh. It was an image of the moon that shifted into a stylized sun, rays spread out in fine lines and dashes framed by a triangle. 

“Three things cannot be long hidden, the sun, the moon, and the truth,” Steve explained, gesturing towards the tattoo. “El read that to me once and it felt like--it just hit right, you know?” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Billy said. Then he cleared his throat. “If you manage not to fall out of your bed and die, I’ll see you on Wednesday, Harrington.” 

Steve finger waved. He’d be embarrassed about that later too but he couldn’t remember why. Not when it made Billy laugh, deep and genuine, the sound reverberating through his hazy head as he sank against his pillows. 

= =

Billy stared at his phone and reread the text for what felt like the hundredth time. 

_Surviving Your Billy Hargrove Induced Gay Panic: A Guide by Steve Harrington_

How Harrington had managed to text it to him when he clearly meant to put it in his notes app was still beyond Billy, but the powers of tequila shots really shouldn’t be questioned. Drunk Steve was clearly chaos unleashed. 

In the two weeks since Tommy’s kegger, Billy and Sober Steve had both been very maturely, mutually ignoring that anything had happened - it was the only way they could get through the rest of the semester. Or at least that’s what Billy had been telling himself.

That didn’t stop Billy from remembering what it felt like to pull Harrington’s shirt off - especially when it would slide down his back during class. It didn’t stop Billy from remembering the stark black lines of Steve’s tattoo, thin and sharp on soft white skin. It didn’t stop Billy from wanting to wrap his arms around Steve and haul him off to his bedroom for a very different reason this time.

But they were ignoring it. So Billy didn’t act on it, which was both infuriating and also fine by him. The prospect of making an actual move on Harrington scared him absolutely shitless. Just seeing the guy in his underwear in bed had been enough to short circuit Billy’s brain. Actually touching him with intent? Kissing him? Nope. No. Nuh uh. No fucking way. 

He was pulled out of his Steve Harrington Induced Panic (a common occurrence these days) by the sweet sound of his name being called at the counter. He collected his pizzas and headed back to his apartment, ready for a night of Harrington-free thoughts as he and Max binge watched 90s rom coms. 

His joy was short lived when he opened his door and found none other than Harrington himself lounging on his futon with Max. 

“Maxine. I didn’t realize we were inviting guests,” Billy hissed as he set the pizzas down on the coffee table.

“I ran into him and Robin at the Rec Center and invited them both. Robin had a date.” Max opened the pizza box on top and scrunched up her nose. “Pineapple, Billy? Really?”

“I felt kinda bad when I ordered it, but not anymore. You deserve this.” Billy nodded his head at Harrington by way of explanation for the guilt-free pineapples. Max knew perfectly well what she was doing. “Besides, the other one is fruit free.” 

Harrington cleared his throat. “I actually thought the movie was at Heather’s when Max invited me. Didn’t realize it was your place till I got here.” He looked guilty for all of one second before gazing longingly at the pizza again as his stomach rumbled. “But now that I’m here, I gotta say, I love pineapple on pizza.” He tipped his chin at the screen, where the DVD menu was already looping. “And Laney Boggs is iconic.” 

“See Max, he gets it,” Billy huffed. “Some of us have taste.” 

“I can go if you want me to leave?” Harrington half stood up, and before he could think better of it, Billy shoved him back down on the futon, the wooden frame creaking dangerously at the motion. 

“Don’t be stupid, Harrington,” Billy scoffed, sitting down on the other side of Max. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having his sister as a barrier between him and the star of his memories-turned-fantasies but here they were. 

Max’s phone chimed. She pulled an exaggerated face as she read the message, and Billy felt that same hair-raising feeling he got when she gave him that sharp grin of hers. “Oh, no. Looks like El and Mike are having a fight - she really needs me, I gotta go.” 

“I’ll walk you out,” Billy said, over-pleasant as he followed his sister to the door. 

Max turned to face him at the doorway, voice pitched low. “I would say I feel bad for setting you up but honestly, I feel no remorse,” she half-whispered, and now that grin was actually on her face.

Billy pulled her into a hug, crushing her against him as he whispered, “You’ll pay for this, shit head.” 

“You can thank me later,” she said, then pulled away. She yelled a _see ya later, Steve_ over Billy’s shoulder, and then she closed his own door in his face. 

Billy turned to find Steve shoving pizza in his face. He swallowed comically loud. “Um, do you want me to leave now that Max is gone?”

“So I can eat pizza and watch _She’s All That_ by myself?” Billy sat back down, closer to the middle of the futon this time. “You can stay, Harrington.” 

Steve set the rest of his pizza down, a small frown on his face. “Okay, but there’s a difference between ‘you can stay’ and ‘I don’t want you to leave’. So which one is it, really?” 

Billy felt his eyebrows skyrocket up in surprise at how blunt that was. It felt like things should still be a game between them. Shrouded, teasing. Billy licked his lips. “Which one do you think it is?”

Harrington rolled his eyes and sighed, sounding resigned. “So we’re still pretending then? Okay, whatever. As long as I get pizza.” 

Billy’s chest twisted at the idea that Steve didn’t want to pretend anymore. “Hey, Harrington.” 

“Yeah?” Steve picked at his pizza, but didn’t look at him. 

Scooting a bit further over, Billy bumped his elbow into Harrington. “Steve.” 

Steve looked up at him then, and the words stuck in Billy’s throat. He wasn’t used to being honest. He wasn’t used to saying what he wanted or how he felt, but it seemed like he needed to do something other than make a joke. “I want you to stay.” 

“Because you can’t eat all this pizza alone?” Steve motioned at the two boxes of pizza on the coffee table. 

Billy shrugged. “Something like that.” He’d already admitted he wanted Harrington to stay, he didn’t need to admit he wanted him to stay so he could fucking kiss him. 

“You’d have to do a lot of hot yoga to sweat all this pizza out,” Steve contemplated with a smirk. “Speaking of that, since when do you do hot yoga?” 

Billy laughed, glad they were back on somewhat normal territory now. “Heather conned me into it. She was hassling me because I took your class but not hers.” 

“Seemed like you were enjoying it though,” Steve offered. “From what I could see, anyway. You gonna keep going?” 

“Hmm,” Billy leaned back on the futon, turning a bit to face Steve. “Wasn’t bad, might go back. Should I let you know next time I go so you can conveniently drop off supplies again? Did you like what you saw, Harrington?” 

Billy was thankful they weren’t in the darkened yoga studio this time, because Harrington blushed, the pink spreading across his cheeks with wild abandon, and it was the cutest fucking thing Billy had ever seen. 

Steve shoved at his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up. Everyone likes what they see when they look at you. Especially when you're shirtless and glistening.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t care about everyone else.” Billy leaned forward, put his arm on the back of the futon. “I only care about whether _you_ liked it.” 

Steve’s breathing picked up and he leaned into Billy’s space a bit, but it didn’t seem like a conscious decision. Billy was relieved he wasn’t the only one who felt an undeniable physical pull between them. “I think we’ve already established I liked it. You’re like the fucking sun, remember?” 

Billy thought of Steve’s tattoo, the quote he’d said that had inspired it. _Three things cannot be long hidden - the sun, the moon, and the truth._

And Billy figured if he was the sun, then Steve was the moon, shining bright against all the darkness that surrounded him, and the truth between them felt like it wasn’t worth hiding anymore. Billy was done pretending 

“I couldn’t forget it if I tried,” Billy muttered, and then he closed the space between them, his lips finally, blissfully pressing against Steve’s. It was careful, hesitant, like neither one of them really thought it was happening. 

Billy pulled back, and he smiled his soft, small smile, not the one he usually used around Harrington that was all sharp and dangerous. Steve was grinning back at him. 

“Also seem to remember you saying my arms were nice,” Billy teased. 

Steve laughed, slid his hands up over Billy’s arms, around his shoulders. “Very nice, yeah,” Steve mumbled. “Better when they’re not covered with shirts though.” 

“You always this smooth?” Billy asked as Steve’s hands moved down his chest, snaked up under his shirt. 

“Been thinking about kissing you for literally years. My brain is a little scrambled.” He hooked his fingers under the hem of Billy’s shirt and pushed it up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. “Not even embarrassed. About this or what happened at the kegger.” 

Billy grinned at him. “You did fuck up a double thumbs up. I think there’s still some stuff to be embarrassed about.” 

Steve huffed, wound his arms up around Billy’s neck, tangled his fingers in Billy’s blonde curls and yanked. “Tell me about it _after_ you finish kissing me.” 

“Gonna be a long time till I’m done kissing you, pretty boy.” 

Steve whined, impatient, and pulled Billy closer. “Oh my god, shut up already.” He kissed Billy, and this time there wasn’t any hesitation - just heat and promise and years of longing finally made real. 

-

Billy stood in Prayer Pose, breathing deeply as he felt the warmth of a good yoga session flowing through him. 

It was their last class of the semester, and against all odds, he was one of the few in the class who would be back back in the Spring. Robin would be the instructor for his intermediate class next semester and Billy was looking forward to taking a yoga class where he didn’t actively daydream about banging the instructor. Maybe he’d actually get better at yoga. Plus, Steve promised to keep giving him private lessons on the side. 

Billy grinned, thinking about how their last _private lesson_ had gone. He finally knew what it felt like to trace Steve’s tattoo with his tongue, and that was well worth the 30 minutes of actual yoga practice they’d done beforehand. 

Steve dismissed the class, thanking everyone for a great semester, and Billy sat down on his mat to do his usual flexibility stretches. He got through a few exercises before he felt the familiar heat of long fingers and sure hands wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Getting nice and flexible?” 

Billy twisted and kissed the back of Steve’s hand before getting back to stretching. “Yeah, I got this super hot boyfriend so I gotta keep it loose, ya know what I mean?” 

“Sounds like a lucky guy,” Harrington circled around and sat in the space between Billy’s legs, disrupting his stretches. 

“I mean, I think I’m the lucky one. He’s teaching me a lot, really broadening my horizons. I was all about just holding a guy up to fuck him against a wall before but now I’m, like, trying kinky poses and shit. It’s all very zen,” Billy said. 

“Hang on, wait, just so we’re clear, the wall fucking is still on the table, rght?” Steve ran his hands up Billy’s arms, clenching at his biceps. “Right?” 

Billy grinned at him. “Name the time and the place.” 

“Right now in the yoga studio seems like a bad choice,” Steve hedged.

“Wouldn’t want another ‘ _I’m looking for the pool’_ situation,” Billy breathed as he leaned forward. He trailed kisses up the long column of Steve’s throat, wound his arms around his back and pulled him closer. 

Steve wrapped his legs around Billy’s waist, scooting as close as possible. “I could literally get fired.” Steve sounded out of breath in the best way, but he had a point. Billy tried to pull away, but Steve’s hand was at the back of his head, holding him in place. “Oh god, don’t stop.” 

Billy laughed, tangled his fingers with Steve’s and pulled his hand away. “As much as this is a top 10 fantasy for me, I don’t actually want you to get fired. You gotta keep your job so you can teach Dustin and Will next semester.” 

Steve dropped Billy’s hand to cover his face. “It’s gonna be a nightmare,” he groaned.

“Worse than having me in your class?” 

Steve wiped his hands down his face. “That didn’t turn out so bad,” he said with a smile. 

“Oh, I can make it even better for you,” Billy leered, leaning forward to climb on top of Steve. 

Steve somehow managed to wriggle around enough to get his foot planted on Billy’s chest, and he pushed away from him. Fucking yoga master level flexibility. “Don’t tempt me, we already determined this is not the place.” 

“It’s fun tempting you though,” Billy whined. 

“Okay, here’s a distraction. What’s something you learned this semester in my class?” Steve sat cross-legged out of reach again, and Billy figured he might as well get back to the stretches that Steve had distracted him from. 

He reached for his toes. “I learned it’s way more satisfying when I get to leer at you _and_ follow through on it.” 

“Not gonna argue that, but come on, something else,” Steve wheedled. 

Billy stretched his arm up over his head, tilting off to the side, stretching his oliques. “Max is a shit head but she has good ideas sometimes.” 

“Fair, but for real, didn’t you learn anything in my class?” 

Billy stretched out his other side, then drew his legs in to sit cross-legged like Steve, copying the way he moved his body one last time in this yoga studio. 

“Balance,” Billy said. 

Steve huffed. “Your balance wasn’t bad coming into class. That doesn’t really count.” 

“No, I mean, like, _balance_ ,” Billy emphasized the word since he couldn’t think of a different way to say it. “Like, anger and frustration aren’t bad emotions to have, I just have to balance them with other stuff. Like calm. Focus. Fucking --- zen shit.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. “You messing with me?” 

Billy grinned at him, shifted onto his hands and knees. He prowled towards Steve. “Not yet I’m not, because we’re still in this fucking yoga studio.” 

He kissed Steve, slow and warm. 

“I make you feel calm and focused?” Steve asked when they broke apart. 

Billy nodded, feeling too exposed to say those exact words out loud. He was working on it, but it was gonna take time to get there. 

“You make me feel a lot of things. Like right now, irritated that we haven’t gone back to my place to finish the job on that shitty fucking futon.” 

The frame may or may not have collapsed on one side during one of their ‘movie’ nights. They were determined to break the other side in a similarly undignified way. 

“You know what I learned this semester?” Steve asked as Billy pulled at his shirt to kiss his collarbone. 

“What?” Billy asked against his skin. 

“Karma works in mysterious ways,” Steve said. “Thought you being in my class was a punishment for something but it turned out to be a reward instead.” 

Billy sat back on his heels and looked at Steve. He couldn’t argue with him - karma had done them a fucking favor. 

“Wish she would have mysteriously worked for us sooner,” Billy said as he stood up. He offered Steve his hand and pulled him up with him. “Now come on, let’s go to my place, and I’ll give you a fucking karmic reward, if you know what I mean.” Billy ran his tongue over his lips, for good measure. 

Steve laced their fingers together and pulled him out of the studio. 

Billy remembered how at the beginning of the semester, he’d been so sure he’d fucked up, miscalculated in some horrible way to end up in Harrington’s yoga class. And honestly? Maybe Billy was better at math than he’d thought back then. 

He was still fucking horrible at yoga though. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ **toomanysharks**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysharks):  
> Basically this happened because I wrote a scene for a different fic (as of yet unpublished) with stretching in it where Billy is like “wtf are you trying to teach me yoga, Harrington” and then sprinkle_of_cinnamon was like OH HO YES and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Yoga Instructor Steve.
> 
> Many, many thanks to sprinkle_of_cinnamon for bringing yoga expertise and immeasurable sass to this fic in Steve’s POV - you the MVP and it was a blessing to co-write this Yoga Bois story with you, you absolute gem.
> 
> [ **sprinkle_of_cinnamon**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkle_of_cinnamon):  
> The joy we all need is Yoga Instructor Steve. toomanysharks sold me on this premise solely with ‘yogabois’. 
> 
> The absolute chaos of pushing these dudes closer and then hot potatoing to get them together was an absolute joy. Even when I never remembered this writing process was called an ‘exquisite corpse’ and called it any number of synonymous horrors. Yet, you still wrote it with me so, thanks again!
> 
> ==
> 
> If you're looking for more unrelated Harringrove fun from both of us, check out our series [**Am I Dreaming or is that a Prompt-Based Harringrove Series?**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771882), where we mostly post stories about Billy Hargrove in short shorts and Steve Harrington being a lovable disaster, but, like, different each time.
> 
> ==
> 
> You can find toomanysharks on tumblr as [herobuckybarnes](http://herobuckybarnes.tumblr.com).
> 
> [sprinkle_of_cinnamon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkle_of_cinnamon) is an enigma that you can only find here.


End file.
